Treasures
by sleepykitelf
Summary: Dean owns an auto shop in Texas, and somehow even here, the Apocalypse will find him. AU where Dean and Sam are not brothers. Rated M for foul language of all kinds. Comments always welcome.
1. Treasures

**Prologue**

"I don't see an invoice for the Armstrong boys," I grumbled loudly as my fingers flew over the ancient keyboard.

Said keyboard, along with the rest of the computer, was a holdover from the prior century. The whole setup should've been scrapped years ago - it barely passed for a paperweight. I cursed the machine every month when it came time to reconcile the store's finances. Unfortunately for me, Dean Winchester was more interested in good wrenches and old cars than in computers. He and technology had a rocky relationship since yelling at it never did much good.

"What'd you say?" came a voice from the garage.

"Remember the two guys who came in here last week with their stuttering Corolla? Pot smokers. One of them lost a shoe somewhere down our drain."

From where I sat at the only desk in the entire auto shop, I could just see the tips of my boss's work boots through an open door. He lay on the floor in the closest parking bay, underneath an imposing old Impala.

"Yeah, what about them?"

"Did you charge them for the work?"

I heard something clatter, followed by a loud clang. "It was only a ten minute job."

"Which is worth about forty dollars in labor. Not to mention, do you have any idea how much these spark plugs actually cost us?"

Scattered before me lay piles of receipts, invoices, scheduling notices, and other miscellaneous paperwork. Despite three hours of effort on my part, the desk was still drowning in paper; chaos reigned. I glanced up at the computer screen and groaned – the shop's outdated accounting program ran at the speed of molasses. It had yet to catch up with me.

"Not a clue," Dean replied as he somehow crawled out from beneath the hulking vehicle, his Baby, and stood up.

"If we still lived in a trade economy, it'd be roughly three burritos and one chicken."

The owner of Treasured Junk dusted himself off and walked into the waiting room that also doubled as the office of his garage. Up close, Dean Winchester stood a good six feet in height, with close-cropped black hair and impenetrable green eyes. Whenever he looked at me, I got the feeling that the man could see right into my soul. Made me wonder what he saw there.

I squinted at yet another receipt and tried to make sense of its less than stellar notation. Most of a morning had been spent on this endeavor and I was no closer to digging myself, or the desk, out of this mess.

"Thank god for cash and capitalism, then," he said with a smirk. "It _is_ Sunday, isn't it?"

"Last I checked, Boss."

"Then, what the hell are you still doing here, Jo?"

"Working."

"Shouldn't you be partying or something?"

"God no. What gave you that idea?"

"Wasn't that your boyfriend who picked you up last week?"

"Ex-boyfriend," I corrected with a sigh and pulled a stray hair out of my eyes. "I see you eyeing that shotgun of yours, but I can assure you that's entirely unnecessary. He was an asshole, but he had the common decency to at least let me know before it went anywhere."

"You have strange tastes in men."

I half grinned. "Apparently, I like them with a side of psychotic tendency. Go figure. On that note, why are we discussing my love life? Can we talk about you instead?"

"Fuck, no. I'm thinking of closing up shop for the day and going home. If you don't mind."

"Of course not," I started to say when we both heard a loud crash outside, followed by a heart-wrenching scream and a thud.

For a brief moment, Dean and I stared at each other. I glimpsed something like concern in his eyes. Pushing back my chair hard enough that it fell over, I vaulted around the desk and sprinted outside. I could hear Dean grab his gun and then his footsteps following me around the side of the garage. I rounded the corner into the alley behind the shop when I saw Gordon.

"Shit," I whispered and slid to a halt, heart pounding.

Like Dean, the older hunter was tall and muscular, body built for battle. His dark sin glistened in the pounding hot sun. In one hand, he held a pistol and it was pointed down at a body that lay at his feet. Dark, narrow eyes regarded me evenly.

I heard Dean stroll up to stand beside me. He raised his gun and aimed it dead center at the hunter. Like most people in this profession, my boss was a very good shot – it came with the job description.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Gordon? This is my territory, and you're not welcome here."

"It's none of your business, Winchester. Don't go sticking your nose where it don't belong," Gordon practically growled, showing off teeth.

"You're on my turf, so I'm making it my business."

"Fuck you, asshole," Gordon answered in kind.

I saw Dean put a finger on the trigger and release the gun's safety. "Answer the goddamn question, Walker, before I add a few more holes to your chest."

Gordon kicked the body in front of him sharply, and it whimpered in pain. "Just an omega, learning its very first lessons. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, boy." At my gasp, his angry, deranged gaze focused on me. "And don't you go telling me it's human, bitch. Omegas ain't human."

All of my mother's advice regarding the rogue hunter ended with a very firm "stay the hell away from him". Right then, I couldn't agree more. I saw no sanity, no empathy in his empty, pitiless eyes. This was the gaze of a monster.

He and Dean faced off, guns pointed at one another now, both clearly itching to fight. Some of it was hatred, some biology, some pure instinct. They were both alphas, natural born hunters, and the street was their jungle.

"You know what, I've heard enough. You come into my territory, raise your voice at me, and insult the manager of my store. I don't like it. Get your sorry ass out of here, Gordon. Last warning."

"Too bad. I ain't leaving without my prize."

"Fine," Dean said mercilessly and took a shot at the hunter.

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the alley like ricocheting thunder. The weapon was loaded with buckshot – I knew because I watched Dean clean and reload the weapon a few days ago – so the damage looked worse than it was.

Still, Gordon's gun clattered out of his hand and onto the ground. He glanced over at his now bleeding shoulder and screeched in pain. His other hand went to the wound instinctively.

"What the hell was that?" demanded the hunter, anger seething in his voice. "You're not supposed to shoot other humans."

"Really, Gordon? Tell that to the boy you tortured. Now, I suggest you get moving. Next time, I'll aim somewhere a little lower."

"You bastard."

"Asshole."

As soon as Gordon took a few steps back, I rushed over and knelt down beside the bleeding young man. He wasn't conscious, from what I could tell, but his chest rose and fell with each hoarse breath. I pressed two fingers against the side of his neck and found a heartbeat, slow but steady.

Up close, the boy looked young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with high cheekbones and a split chin. A large, purple bruise covered one whole side of his face, as though someone had punched him over and over again. His ears were pierced with two blood red studs. Dressed in a tattered white shirt and boxers, he looked young and vulnerable.

"I think I've seen him somewhere before," I said when Dean came over.

He nodded. "Yeah, you probably have. Remember John's little boy?"

"Sam?"

"Looks like it."

"He's gotten tall." I was guessing six foot four or five.

"Listen, Jo, why don't you go to the hospital with him when the paramedics arrive. I'm going to make a few calls and meet you there, all right?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Keep an eye on him and don't let the doctors make any stupid decisions on his behalf."

"Why? What's wrong? Boss?" My voice shook despite my best efforts to keep it under control.

"I met Sam about four years ago. Ran a hunt with him and his father. If my memory serves, he was an alpha back then, like his late daddy."

I glanced at my boss with wide, frightened eyes. "The fuck?"

"I don't know for sure, Jo. All right? Just do your best. I'll get in touch with Ellen, see if she has any insight on all this."

"Mama and John didn't get along."

"John didn't get along with anyone much. Stubborn assholes are like that. But Ellen had a thing for the boy - she used to mention that she thought John needed to settle down, give his kid some semblance of a normal life. She might know more."

"All right," I whispered as the first sounds of police sirens reached our ears. "What about Gordon?"

"He's not going anywhere anytime soon. Not with all that blood."


	2. Frontier Hospital

**Hospitals on the Frontier**

Three very skilled paramedics wheeled the bruised and still-bleeding Sam Wolfe into the emergency room of a local area hospital. One of the nurses on duty took a look at him and started barking out order so fast I couldn't even begin to keep up with her.

On the ride over, I'd seen some of the boy's injures up close and it made my heart ache. Angry red marks circled his wrists and ankles; dark purple bruises covered his arms and chest. Thin precise cuts littered his arms and legs – someone had sliced at him with a knife. A steel-eyed paramedic mentioned the possibility of broken fingers on his right hand. I'd been thankful that Sam was unconscious and not feeling this pain.

At the hospital more nurses came and moved the young man from a gurney onto a hospital bed that they wheeled into a room in the ER. I followed them numbly and watched with a kind of horrified amazement as they cut away his clothes, revealing still more injuries. Deftly, these three miracle workers dressed him in a loose green hospital gown and pants.

"Is he going to be all right?" I asked a passing nurse as she walked by.

"Of course, dear. Why don't you have a seat for a few minutes and let us work, all right? Once we have him stabilized, a doctor will come talk to you."

"Thank you."

"Don't you worry. We'll take good care of your friend."

As she was talking to me, a doctor in a lab coat walked in and strolled over to the hospital bed. He flipped through Sam's medical chart, nodded to himself, and then hooked the boy up to an IV and several other machines. He jotted something down in his notes and walked out again.

"Am I invisible or something?"

The nurse who was stitching Sam up laughed. "Nah, it's not just you. The doctors around here are just too damn busy. Don't take it personally."

A technician came by with a portable x-ray machine and another nurse bandaged Sam's arm. They worked meticulously and efficiently, as if this was routine. Brawls happed often enough out here, where cops took almost half an hour to arrive. Nothing to see here, nothing out of the ordinary.

I was, by that point, shaken and only inches away from panicking. Relief washed over me when Dean strode into the room, shotgun in one hand. Without even thinking, I gave him a quick hug before sitting down on a rickety, plastic chair.

The whole place smelled like disinfectant to me, and I couldn't even begin to imagine how much worse it was for my boss. He had the nose of a hunter; blood and fear were a language he spoke well.

"How is he?" asked the alpha curiously.

"I don't know to be honest. No one's said anything."

"I'll find the doctor."

"One of the nurses said he'll be around shortly." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "How'd you get here so quick?"

"I drove," Dean said, totally deadpan.

"Drive or did you fly?"

"I teleported, Jo. Seriously."

"Sorry."

Eventually, the doctor from before stepped into the room and glanced between us. "Are either of you Sam's family?" he asked kindly enough.

"Afraid not," Dean answered with his most charming smile, "but we might be as close as he's got to one right now, and if there's anything we can do to help..."

"All right, well, are you an alpha, sir?"

I could see gears turning in that Winchester head. My boss nodded after a moment. "And if I am?"

The question left me stunned and more than a little embarrassed. I stared at the floor between my feet, wondering if Dean might yet punch the idiot in the lab coat. Civilized people didn't ask about designation, in the same way most people don't discuss genital in public. It's not exactly every day conversation. Unless, you happen to live in Backwater, USA, apparently.

"In that case, my name's Doctor Richard Williams," said the balding doctor and shook Dean's hand. "I'm the doctor assigned to take care of your friend."

My gaze lingered on the boy in the hospital bed, still and silent, pale underneath the hospital's harsh lights. Not at all the vibrant, happy child that I remembered chasing through the mud. We'd been friends for a month one summer. It seemed like an eternity ago.

"How's he doing, Doc?"

"He's in pretty bad shape, but it's nothing that won't pass in a few days. For the moment, at least, he's stable and in fair condition," Williams explained as he looked over Sam's chart.

"That said, he has experienced some extreme trauma. It's possible that he was raped, and furthermore, that whoever did so, then performed a forced designation change, potentially after shooting him up full of horse tranquilizers."

"What?" I couldn't help myself. "That's illegal _in all fifty states_."

"Correct," agreed the doctor with a frown, "but the damage has already been done.

"We've administered sedatives, a pain suppressant, and hormone blockers to slow the progress of the change. It will still happen, of course, but slower and with less discomfort. We've also patched up some of his other injuries." Williams gestured at Sam's bandaged arm and stiches on his chest. "And we've added his name to the Registry."

The Registry existed to keep omegas safe and protect them from a world practically hell-bent on killing them, usually slowly. Some cultures believed that drinking their blood brought immortality while others preferred omega partners to the rest of the population. Whatever the reason, most of the states had specific laws that protected their rights and treated them as equals.

In some places these laws worked well, but this wasn't some state. Texas was one of the few states that still hadn't ratified the Equality for all Designations Act; the rules of the Registry didn't apply here. Sam wasn't safe.

"Thank you, doctor," Dean said mildly. "When can Sam check out of the hospital?"

"I'd say at any point after he wakes up. I would recommend against it, though, unless he has someplace to go for a few weeks. The change is brutal at any age; it's not something that anyone should have to face alone."

"Of course. We'll take good care of him. Thanks again, doc."

"If you need anything, feel free to ping a nurse, all right? I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on him." The doctor smiled at us and left the room.

"What the hell was Gordon thinking?" I demanded as soon as the door closed.

Dean put a hand on my shoulder and shook his head. "Won't know until Sam wakes up, but let him sleep for now." He glanced out the window. "I've known Gordon for close to a decade now, Jo, and he was always a little out there. Nothing like this, though. This is... unforgivable."

"What did my mother say?"

Dean sighed, deflating somehow. "She confirmed my suspicions about Sam's prior designation. No one's been keeping an eye on Walker, though, so she's going to do some information gathering tonight, see if anyone knows where he's holed up."

"Dean, what do we do now?" I couldn't keep the panic out of my voice. "About Gordon and Sam. What if that monster is doing the same thing to others?"

"We do what needs doing, Jo. Like any hunter. Sometimes, evil wears a perfectly human skin. For now, let's worry about Sam; his wellbeing is top priority. I'm going to go clear out the spare bedroom above the garage, so Sam has a place to stay for a little while."

"You going to be OK?"

Dean's eyebrows rose a notch. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you're, you know, an alpha, and he's basically catnip. Or he will be when he wakes up."

"I'll deal with it."

"What about the Roadhouse?"

"Gordon knows its whereabouts and he knows you were there, so odds are good that if that prick goes hunting, he'll show up there. I'd rather he not slaughter your mom's patrons, if I can at all avoid it."

"If you're sure, Boss."

"About as sure as I normally am. When Sam wakes up, help him get checked out and then call me. I'll pick both of you up."

I looked over at the bed uncertainly. "He probably doesn't remember me."

"He's not likely to remember a whole lot of anything right now, Jo. Don't worry about it. Just hang out for a while. If it looks like it's getting late, call me and then go home. We'll figure this out."

"Yeah, OK."

"See you in a few hours."

"See you, Dean. Be careful, please? I don't think Gordon will either forgive or forget."

Dean patted his shotgun and grinned. The look in his eyes scared me. "Next time I see that son of a bitch, he and I are going to have a heart to heart."

When he left, a wave of fear snaked its way down my back. Alone in this room, with only the sleeping omega for company, I didn't feel safe. Gordon frightened me and the implications of what he'd done left me utterly sick.

I pulled one of the plastic chairs over to the bed and sat down in it. Gently, I took Sam's free hand, the one without bandages, and wrapped my own fingers around it. I'd never been particularly religious, but then it felt right to pray.


	3. Waking Up

**Waking Up**

I dozed fitfully for the next couple of hours as the adrenaline rush wore off. My head rested on the hospital bed next to Sam's large hand but the rest of me was stuffed uncomfortably in an uncomfortable chair. I felt a bit like a yoga master in some pretzel-like pose. Clearly, these chairs were not intended for any long term use.

My stomach growled, a pitiful reminder that I hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was almost six o'clock in the evening. I moved just enough to move my stiff, aching neck and protesting back, hoping it wouldn't disturb the sleeping man. It didn't work.

Sam groaned softly and his wide eyes fluttered open. Up close, they were some swirling color between green and blue, almost aquamarine. Messy brown bangs fell loosely into his eyes, and I brushed them away with shaking fingers. I didn't know why, but I felt like hugging the boy, soothing him back into sleep.

"It's all right, Sam. You're safe," I said softly, free hand reaching for the paging button. "I'm just going to call a nurse for you."

"Thirsty," he whispered back hoarsely.

"Just hang on a few more seconds, all right? Someone is coming to help."

"Where am I?"

"Sisters of Mercy Medical Center, a few miles out of Houston."

The man nodded resolutely, winced, and tried desperately to sit up. For a moment I was frozen in indecision between helping him and asking him to lie back down, but his need to be up won over my worry. I reached over, slipped an arm behind his back and gently steadied him upright. His eyes took in the barren hospital room.

"How're you feeling?" I asked gingerly.

"Dizzy."

"Do you want to lie back down? You might feel better."

Sam shook his head and traced the IV line to the needle in his arm. "Who are you?"

"Name's Joanna. Jo for sure. Dean and I…um, found you in an alley earlier today."

Groggy from all the medications in his system, the omega spoke slowly, slurring his words a little. His eyebrows furrowed in sheer concentration. Speaking was taking a lot of effort and a lot of out of him. He had a soft, almost southern accent that I couldn't place and the gentlest, warmest voice I'd ever heard.

About then, an elderly nurse in green scrubs walked into the room and looked at the two of us entirely disapprovingly. "Lie back down, young one," she commanded. "You ain't ready to be up and about. And you girl, what're thinking, letting him sit up?"

"Sorry, ma'am," we both said pretty much as the same time as Sam gingerly lay back down.

"That's much better now. How're you feeling, my boy?"

"All right. Thirsty."

"Perfectly normal, given the circumstances." The older woman grabbed a water bottle from a cabinet, poured some of the water in a plastic cup, and puttered over to the bed. "Raise your head up just a bit now. Wouldn't want you to choke on this."

Sam took a few shallow sips.

"That's better," the nurse repeated. "Now where's that alpha of yours?" She began writing down the numbers from some of the machines. "He ought to be here, really. Shame on him. It's not like them good old days. Alphas were gentlemen back then." She patted Sam on the shoulder and clucked a few times. "Boys today have no respect. No respect."

"Um," I said softly. "I'll call Dean."

"You'd better, young lady. Would be a shame for the young one to go through all of this by himself. Damn shame."

Sam looked between her and me and then sat up by himself. "I'd like to leave."

"Absolutely not, young man! Lie right on back down. You ain't in any condition to be going nowhere!" The silver-haired nurse shook her head. "Young ones today. Always rushing."

"Please," protested the young man softly.

"No, and no. It's not proper, all of it. Not one bit. Just be still a moment, and I'll give you a bit more morphine. I suspect the pain's starting to really peak."

With one swift gesture, Sam reached down and pulled the IV out of his arm. He winced at the gesture and a bead of blood appeared on his pale skin. The nurse gaped at him for a moment and shook her head.

"You're far too stubborn for your designation, boy. Now, lay back down and behave. No more of this nonsense."

I watched her rummage around in a drawer and pull out a syringe. She stuck the needle into a little tiny bottle of some clear liquid and measured out a few milligrams. Without thinking, I put myself between the nurse and the young man.

"Look, if he doesn't want to, it's OK." I took a deep breath and tried to look imposing, a nearly impossible feat for someone who barely reached five feet.

"Little girl, let's stop playing pretend. Your little friend over there's sick. He needs rest and his alpha, and that's all there is to it. Now, please move so I can do my work, all right?"

"Can we at least wait until Sam's alpha gets here?"

"If you insist, but it's really not good for him. The pain can be quite overwhelming, especially for someone like him. Best he sleeps through it."

Behind me, Sam sighed. "I've been through worse."

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Dean quickly. At his hello, I said, "It's Jo. You may want to come on down to the hospital. Right now. Sam's awake."

"Be right there," my boss said and hung up.

"Would you mind giving me a few minutes with Sam, in private," I said after a moment, hesitantly. "Dean should be here in half an hour, tops."

"Fine," grumbled the nurse and puttered out of the room.

I stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, and then picked my jaw off the floor. "Well that was weird."

"What did she mean, Jo?" Sam asked cautiously, looking down at his hands, "about my alpha?"

There was no good way of telling him the truth, no polite or kind of way of telling someone that a human monster had ruined their lives. I stood there uncertainly, twirling by fingers, not sure how to answer. Finally, I settled for the truth, terrified that I was no good at tiptoeing around people. Client I could handle, friends not so much.

"Do you remember what happened to you before the hospital?" I asked, probing the waters.

"Not much."

"There was a man named Gordon. He might've been chasing you."

At the mention of the hunter, the gentle-eyed man shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. I saw his gaze un-focus, as he was suddenly remembering something horrible. Wincing, I looked down at the off-white linoleum under my feet.

"At the hospital, the doctor who's treating you said that someone – possibly Gordon – hurt you pretty badly." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Whoever it was, they altered your designation using an old, forbidden and highly illegal ritual."

Sam let go of a breath he must have been holding and nodded to himself. "I was wondering why everything felt off."

"Your body is changing," I whispered, sniffling a little. Tears ran down my cheeks, pain unspoken. "What they did to you should've never happened. It's not…fair. It wasn't right and nothing can ever change what he did."

I expected anger on pain, but the young man merely shrugged and took my hand. "Life happens. Not always how we'd like it to. Thank you, for taking care of that nurse."

I smiled wanly at him. "She seemed weirdly old-fashioned. Like she's been around since the dinosaur walked the earth and the modern age just isn't to her liking."

"Listen, can you tell me who Dean is?"

"Oh yeah, yeah. He's my boss and an ex-hunter who used to frequent the Roadhouse. He owns a small garage down by the coast. You might remember him. He said he was on a mission with you and your pa a few years ago."

Brows furrowed, Sam seemed to remember. "Oh yeah. Tall? Buzz cut? Limps when he's worried?"

I chuckled at the description. "Sounds like him, all right. That's the Dean I know and love."

"Is he going to stop me from leaving?"

"I don't think so, Sam. He told me to check you out as soon as you woke up. Obviously that's not going to happen with Miss 'you-don't-know-what-you're-doing' on our backs, but Dean's not Texas-brand crazy."


	4. Checking Out

**Checking Out**

Dean stormed into the room like an out-of-control hurricane just as I was saying that he wasn't Texas crazy. He'd changed into a pair of clean pants and a looser t-shirt that still somehow managed to hug his abs. I wasn't crushing on the man, but you'd have to be a bit blind not to think he wasn't stunning. Once, when I'd been stupidly drunk, I'd suggested that he should model for a nude magazine. I still haven't lived that down.

He took in the scene before him with a single glance, eyes narrowed. "How're you doing, Sam? Everything all right?"

"Fine. I'd like to get out here," replied the young omega guardedly.

Based solely on the fearsome look in Dean's eyes, Sam had every reason to feel skittish. I'd known the mechanic for years and worked for him for the last nine months, and even I felt like sinking into the floor. Standing there, looking at us, Dean's expression had gone a little wild, less calm, and more feral. I'd never seen my boss respond this way to anyone at all.

"Works for me. You got a place to stay?"

"I rented a motel room for a couple of days, due north of here I think."

"Dean, cool it," I butted in quietly.

He seemed to relax and loosen his shoulders a little. "Sorry about that. Just tired, I guess. Nerves on edge."

"It's me, isn't it?" asked the omega.

"It's biology. Not the same thing. Evolution made us a little overprotective, but I don't think Jo here is going to let me turn into a mother hen. That said, I suggest we make a disappearance before anyone can ask too many questions. Texas isn't friendly… to much of anyone, really."

The brown-haired man nodded eagerly and swing his feet off the bed. He tried to stand but wasn't yet steady on his feet. Dean caught him, and for a moment my heart beat a little faster. Worry lodged itself in the pit of my stomach. Then, my boss recovered his composure and gently steadied the taller man.

"Out of the question; it's not safe there. If Gordon's been there, he's liable to come back. I have a room you can use for a couple of weeks. We can, uh, drive down to this motel tomorrow and pick up your things."

"I can just go back to the motel. I can take care of myself, Dean."

"Of course you can, but you don't have to. Sometimes, you're allowed to put your burdens aside and let someone else help."

I took a deep breath. "You two are both stubborn bulls aren't you?"

"Yeah," said the two men, looking at me all of a sudden.

I rolled my eyes for a change. "Sam, trust me when I say you will want to take a vacation and heal up somewhere that monster can't find you. And, Dean, we need to get Sam to a safe state first thing tomorrow. The longer he stays here, the more likely it is that he'll get caught up in the madness."

Sam pulled out of Dean's helping arms and stood on his own. "I can't leave yet, not until…"

"Until what, kid, you kill that son of a bitch?" Dean demanded, exasperated. "Hate to break it to you, but omegas don't do revenge."

"Dean," I said warningly.

"He had… others… there. Bastard turns them and then sells them or kills them." Sam wasn't looking at either of us as he said it. "It was hell."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Dean caved. "Compromise then. Stay at my place for a day or two, make sure you're all right, and then we go hunt down Gordon, and anyone else involved in this sick trade of his."

"I'm coming, too," I said a little more forcefully than intended.

"Jo, your mother would kill me if I let anything happen to you."

I looked at him point blank. "My mother is not my keeper, Dean, and I can hunt with the best of them. Drop it, it's an argument you can't win, Boss."

"Fine, fine! Sam, you all right with that?"

"Yeah, I guess," replied the young man uncertainly.

"Let me go find this Doctor Williams and get all the paperwork out of the way."

Dean made a bee line out of the hospital room as though it was on fire. I sat down in one of the contortionist chairs and leaned back with my head against a cool wall. Sam stumbled over and plopped down into a seat beside me. It was a comical sight for a man so tall to fit into a chair clearly intended for kindergartners.

Awake and moving, he still looked like he'd lost a fight with a tractor but he had a disarming smile and welcoming eyes. When he looked at me, I couldn't _not_ take his side.

"Don't be too harsh on Dean, all right? He's a good guy. He tries hard."

The brown-haired man smiled and nodded. "He seems like it. I saw his face when I mentioned Gordon. Do they have a history?"

"If they do, Dean's never mentioned it. He's not really into sharing." I shrugged. "Gordon's well known in hunter circles, mostly as a rogue and a loner. Doesn't play well with others. Mostly goes after vampires. That kind of thing. This… whatever this is… is a side of him none of us knew about."

A few minutes later, the doctor from before walked in, followed by my boss. Williams pulled up a chair across from us and sat down while Dean stood next to me, leaning against a wall. He looked too agitated to sit still.

The doc looked down at his notes and then said, "So how're you feeling, Sammy?"

"Sam," the omega corrected him. "And, fine."

Turning to Dean, Richard went on, "Let's go over post-hospital procedures and medications. Then I'll have you sign a few forms, and then we'll have you and Sam out of here in no time."

Dean glanced over at Sam and mouthed, "I'll handle it."

"So first things first, medications. We're prescribing Percocet for pain relief for at least the first week, one pill every eight hours. You can switch him over to Tylenol after that. I know some people prefer to let an omega feel the pain of the change, but we strongly caution against it. The medical consensus is that good pain management leads to better outcomes overall.

"Next up, hormone suppressants. There's not much to say here. These are really your preference, but again, we recommend them. A slower change tends to have fewer complications and we see a large decrease in hospital visits. You'll want Sam to take one before bed nightly or when he gets up in the morning. Consistent usage is the key with these pills."

"Um," I tried but my boss put a hand on my arm.

"Thank you, Doctor, we'll make sure Sam gets all the medicine he needs," Dean said right over me. "Anything else?"

"Plenty of rest and good food is always a must. For the first few weeks, I would recommend very light exercise and just in general, nothing too strenuous. Once his arm and hand heal up, he may need some physical therapy, but we won't know for sure until we get there. Might be good to come in for a checkup in a few weeks, just to make sure everything's healing well."

"Understood."

"In the state of Texas there are also elective surgeries available for omegas that I can go over with you, if you'd like."

"Not necessary. I think we're fine, thank you."

"All right then, that's all I had. Here are medications." He handed Dean two small, orange bottles. "Let me have you sign these consent and release forms, and you can be on your way."

Nodding, Dean wrote his name in completely illegible cursive on the appropriate dotted lines. The doctor handed him copies of the paperwork, a packet of at-home-care instructions, and then excused himself.

Dean got up and handed the medications to Sam. "Well that was that. Let's not stick around to see what happens next."

"Is it like this everywhere?" asked the younger man softly, horror in his voice.

"Not everywhere, but there are at least three states in the contiguous US that still haven't gotten their proverbial heads out of their actual asses. Texas is a top offender. Up north is better. Canada's mostly got it right. Mexico… well, we don't talk about them."

"I didn't realize…"

I took Sam's non bandaged hand and squeezed gently. "Most people don't. It's OK. Promise, you'll be all right. We'll make sure of it."

"How's about we do that somewhere else, kids? Come on."

Sam had to lean on Dean as we walked out of the hospital room but no one seemed to pay much attention to us. No nurse offered a wheelchair, not even so much as a concerned glance our way. I was starting to wonder what was wrong with them all. If it bothered the mechanic or the young man, neither said anything about it.


	5. Apartments

**Apartments**

I suppose I'd always known that Dean Winchester lived above his own shop, but it was in a vague, disbelieving sort of way. I always went home before my boss, and he never talked about his apartment. Whenever a customer mentioned that the garage had a second story, he always called the space a warehouse.

As Sam and I followed Dean up a narrow staircase in the alley behind his shop, I wondered what else I didn't know about the hunter. Even before we entered the apartment, it was obvious that its owner knew how to keep a home safe from the things that go bump in the might.

There was a large warding symbol – Celtic, most likely – spray painted above the mechanic's dark-green front door. I could see salt on the windowsill of the window next to the door, laid out in a neat, even line. Partially hidden beneath a worn-out welcome mat lay a small devil's trap, drawn on the concrete landing with a permanent marker.

Dean fumbled with the keys for a moment and then opened the door to reveal a small apartment. He limped slightly as he stepped inside and I followed after Sam. From the entrance, I could see a tiny but well-furnished kitchen, complete with unwashed dishes in the sink. Beyond that lay a sparsely decorated living room – large couch, seventy inch television – with a couple of doors on one side.

One whole wall of Dean's otherwise barren apartment was taken up by a gun and knife collection like any other. I took a moment to walk over and admire the weapons, a hunter's best friends some days.

"Make yourselves at home," said the mechanic with a light chuckle as he walked up to the fridge – too large to properly fit into the kitchen. "It's not much, but I call it home."

There were several pizza boxes balanced on top of the trash can and a small recycle box was filled with beer cans. The place really did feel like someone's bachelor pad, except for the guns. And the old, hard bound books on the coffee table.

"You live here?" Sam asked cautiously as he looked around.

I saw Dean tense. "Yeah, I do," he said defensively. "Got a problem with that?"

"Um, no…"

I rolled my eyes. "Cool it, Winchester. No one's disrespecting your home. Although, it could use some housekeeping."

"I barely spend any time up here," Dean admitted a bit more calmly and handed me a beer.

"Figured as much. I mean, there was a good span of a few months where I thought you were homeless and just slept in that garage of yours."

Dean laughed aloud, then smiled bemused. "Give it a rest, Jo. I'm not a bum."

"Didn't say you were, but you know, hunters aren't the most stable bunch. How many of Mama's patrons do you think have full-time jobs and furnished apartments?"

"Fair point."

The mechanic walked over to one of the doors and opened it, revealing a small but clean bedroom. "Guest room's this way, Sam. I left clean linens in there and what not. There's plenty of food in the fridge and far too many channels on TV."

"Thank you," the young man said quietly.

I fingered my cell phone, still in a pocket. "If you guys are good, I'm going to head home. Got a cat to feed and plants to water."

"Want me to drive you home?"

I frowned and shook my head. "No need. I live like four blocks away. I think I can make it there all right. Sam, you need anything?"

We both turned to the omega, who started to say something. Whatever it was he planned to tell us got lost when the man let out an ear-piercing scream. He winced and his brows furrowed, as if in pain. His hands went to his face.

Dean practically sprinted across the living room and put his hands on Sam's back. The boy was shaking, barely standing. He dropped the medications he'd been holding and the bottles rolled across gray carpet.

"What's the matter?" I asked softly, stepping in front of Sam so I could see his face.

A thin line of blood poured out of his nose and down to his mouth and he gasped for breath. "Head. It hurts."

Then, his eyes closed and he passed out. Dean caught him mid-fall and wrapped his arms around the now unconscious omega. He grunted for a moment as he shifted his grip to better hold onto Sam.

"Help me get him into bed."

"What the hell just happened?" I demanded – as if Dean had answers – as I grabbed Sam's feet and lifted.

"No idea," Dean replied, sounding genuinely worried.

Together we carried the man into Dean's guest room and situated him on the bed. The mechanic brought over a blanket and I covered Sam with it. His breathing slowed to something more normal and when I found his pulse, it sounded normal to me. As I brushed hair away from his neck, I noticed that Sam had two small stud earrings in his right ear. One was emerald green and the other a bloody shade of red.

"Are you going to be all right?" I asked, looking up at my boss.

"You keep asking that as if I'm the one unconscious or something. Relax, Jo, I'm fine. Sam's an omega, not a rabid dog. I can take care of myself – have been for a decade now."

"I know you can, Dean. That's not what I meant." I said, exasperated.

"Then, what _did_ you mean?"

I took a deep breath. "I mean, are you all right? Forget Sam for a moment. There's a crazed maniac out there, out for your blood. You're no safer than me."

"I can handle that prick."

"Sure you can. But what about whoever he's working with?" I chewed my lip nervously. "At least call Ellen and see about getting a few hunters to keep an eye on this place. Just in case. Until we know what Gordon's planning, at least."

Dean glanced his wrist watch. "I think it might be a bit late tonight, but tomorrow, sure."

"Thanks, Dean. That makes me feel better."

"What about you? Sure you don't want me to walk you home?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. I'll call you as soon as I get in, though. So you can sleep tonight."

"You would me," Dean joked, pretending that he was stabbed through the heart.

I left his place and headed home down well-lit, familiar streets. I knew these roads inside and out, having lived here most of my life. Most of the streets were at least paved, although some were more pothole than pavement by now. Neon signs announced everything from liquor to tattoos to payday loans.

"Hey Jo!" yelled the owner of the corner gas station and waved at me.

"Good evening, Mr. Lawrence."

"How's your day going, dear?"

"Oh you know, it's all right. Just heading home," I said with a smile at the elderly owner.

"Well, you have a nice evening, dear."

"See you tomorrow, sir!"

I walked down the street for another block and then turned into the familiar courtyard. It was already dark out by then but the street lamps in this part of town weren't very reliable. Half of them weren't even on. The lights on the four-story building itself weren't on, either – probably idiot children again, smashing them for fun.

As I approached the stairs down into the basement, I saw a dark smudge on my front door. In the minimal lighting, it looked like some artistically-challenged child had painted a grizzly skull in the middle of the wood. When I got close enough to touch it, I was assaulted by a thick, coppery smell and my fingers came away from the artwork blood red.

"Could be a coincidence," I told myself even as my hand reached for my phone.

Ours wasn't the safest neighborhood. Plenty of good people called these streets home, but not every one of them was a law-abiding citizen. Hunters preferred the gray spaces for the work we did.

Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, I dialed Dean's number even as I fished my keys out of my pocket.

"Hey! Did you make it home OK?" asked the mechanic as soon as he picked up – the miracle of caller ID.

"Well, I got home. But it looks like someone's been here, finger painting."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a bloody skull on my front door."

I heard his voice change, grow harder, more dangerous. "Get out of there, Jo. Right now."

"Lock doesn't look tempered with."

"Doesn't matter. Just come back to my place, OK? We can check it out in the morning."

"Yeah, all right. I'm coming. See you in a few minutes."

"Be careful, Jo," Dean said and I hung up.

I was about to head back when the sound of footsteps startled my already frayed nerves. I heard several sets of footsteps in the street just outside the courtyard, all moving together and all headed my way. I too the stairs two at a time back to ground level and ducked behind a large dumpster, keeping out of sight. Just in case.

Shadows moved around the side of the building. Boots hit the pavement hard, not trying for stealth at all. I heard them approach my door and put my hands over my mouth, to keep sound down to a minimum.

I heard Gordon say, "Ellen's little whore lives down here. Marcus, you go around back, just in case the bitch tries to run. Andy, you're with me."

My stomach knotted at the sound of his voice. Somehow, the more I thought about Gordon, the more he frightened me. Edging along the wall, hidden from their view for the moment, I turned into an alley on the side of the building. Keeping to the shadows, I snuck in between a couple of junk cars in the parking lot and vaulted the fence that separated my building from the neighboring community.

The noise caught the attention of one of Gordon's friend because I heard running behind me, followed by someone grabbing the metal mesh fence. I ran, and they followed, cursing loudly enough that I could hear them. Whoever it was seemed faster than me; I wasn't going to be able to outrun them.


End file.
